


Take a break, for once

by Slight_trash



Category: Magi: Adventure of Sinbad (Anime), Magi: The Labyrinth of Magic
Genre: Domestic Bliss, Fluff, M/M, So self indulgent oh my god, but it’s all super sweet I swear, canon adjacent ig, falling asleep together, i go into orbit just thinking abt how much they love each other, jafar is very stressed, mentions of scars, polyamorous sinbad, sinbad Will make him rest, symptoms of anxiety, theyre married, workaholic jafar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-18 18:27:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28871583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slight_trash/pseuds/Slight_trash
Summary: Ja’far promised to attend Sindria’s tenth annual commemoration, and Sinbad took his word for it. To nobody’s surprise, Ja’far stayed back and worked instead.And Sinbad takes it upon himself to force some rest on him.
Relationships: Jafar/Sinbad (Magi)
Kudos: 22





	Take a break, for once

It had been three incredibly long hours, and Ja’far was still in his quarters doing his goddamn paperwork. Well, not _his_ paperwork— Sinbad’s paperwork he’d been pushing back all week in favor of preparing for the celebration of Sindria’s tenth anniversary as a country. 

And that seemed, to Sinbad, vastly more pressing and important than responding to mind-numbing letters detailing trade routes off the Emerald Isles. That kind of thing was for the overeager kid Sinbad from thirteen years ago, not the current king. 

He’d been deftly dodging Ja’far’s reminders, which ranged from a dagger to his throat to a mildly annoyed, “ _Sin._ The letters.” Part of Sinbad knew his beloved would never _actually_ slit his throat, but the other part liked to push its luck. 

When Ja’far had strode into his work chambers one day prior, he’d caught Sinbad in full finery— something very difficult to explain away as ‘normal work, Ja’far, of _course_ I'm not deciding on my most glorious outfit for tomorrow!’ 

Sinbad flashed his most charming grin, sweeping towards Ja’far and purring, “Ah, Ja’far! Now what has my most handsome, devoted advisor come to inform me of?” 

Ja’far’s mouth opened to respond, but Sinbad piled on more praise, cutting him off with an arm around his wiry shoulders and a loud, “Have I reminded you today of how gloriously we fit together, hm?”

They faced Sinbad’s wide mirror now— a gold-trimmed prize he’d bargained off a Parthevian merchant— and Ja’far’s cheeks were turning pink. They really were well matched… Ja’far’s wiry stature, fierce features, and subdued approach to dressing complemented Sinbad’s extravagant robes and rugged beauty perfectly. 

Sinbad’s chest swelled with satisfaction as he watched Ja’far process what he’d said. Somehow, he looked flattered and constipated at the same time. 

Ja’far really was weak to compliments now that they’d been married, and it was about time. When they were early lovers, Ja’far had been very distant and chilly in an attempt to “prioritize Sindria.” How a few kisses in the halls would obliterate their country, Sinbad hadn’t a clue. But now he was slowly easing the pole out of his ass, and Sinbad was trying his best to speed up the process.

Ja’far seemed to snap out of his fluster, brows pinching as he tried to shrug off Sinbad’s arm. He huffed “ _Sin._ You know exactly what I came in here for. The commemoration is tomorrow, and you aven’t even—“

“Ja’far!” Sinbad whined, cutting him off and pulling him back in. “Have some faith in your king! I’ve attended to quite a lot, and the celebration will go smooth as silk.” He grinned wide at his own reflection, admiring his height beside Ja’far, and how this dark coppery robe made his hair pop. His sapphire necklace clashed a little, though… 

“But—“ Ja’far said, interrupting his throughts, “You have two shipments of garments to approve and about five letters from Chief Hinahoho, as well as a speech in dire need of refinements. Now is not. The time to be staring at yourself.”

Sinbad huffed, “I don’t know why you keep calling him ‘Chief,’ he’s practically your uncle.”

Ja’far glared at him in the mirror.

Sinbad debated giving his ear a tug, but Ja’far had _not_ been happy the last time he did that. So Sinbad went for the second most satisfying option, and slid both arms around Ja’far’s neck, pulling him in. Sinbad’s fingers brushed underneath the back of his keffiyeh, dragging lightly over the sensitive skin of his neck. He leaned down, and murmured, “Ja’far… I promise I’ll finish all of my correspondence, paperwork, _and_ revisions if you come to the commemoration and celebrate with me.”

Ja’far stayed stone-still for a moment, probably determined to resist, but then he let out a short breath. Slowly, the tension in his shoulders bled out, and Ja’far slumped against Sinbad’s chest. “I thought you said you didn’t want to be a manipulator…”

Sinbad stroked the hair at his nape, chuckling when Ja’far shivered, “This isn’t the deplorable type— it’s for your own good. The knots in your shoulders are like pebbles, Ja’far. I’m very concerned.”

Ja’far punched him softly in the stomach, and Sinbad let out a laugh as he backed off, palms in the air. A glare was sent his way, but Sinbad just grinned. Ja’far looked nothing like the prim advisor he usually was— blushing like mad as he adjusted his keffiyeh and shoved unruly strands of hair to the side. 

Just before stalking away, he grumbled, “It _is_ deplorable. And I’ll have your head. But… fine. I’ll attend.”

And Sinbad had believed him, like a damn fool. 

Now he was slumped on a velvet duvet, the party bustling around him, and Ja’far was nowhere to be found. Honestly, Sinbad would’ve settled for a night of him in the basic Sindrian robes he wore day in and day out, abstaining from drinks and glaring at him from the corner. Anything more than just not showing up. 

Tonight’s absence stung especially hard. Not only because this was to celebrate _their_ country, but also because Ja’far was probably in his chambers, working himself to death. He’d been doing this for years, and this was the one day he was officially given to relax and celebrate. And he was _working._

The commemoration had gone beautifully, even. Ja’far had appeared for the initial speech Sinbad gave before sundown, but disappeared immediately after. He knew Sinbad would be too swamped by congratulations, the bastard. So by the time everyone moved to the courtyard, Sinbad was too distracted to dig him up. The venue itself was filled with gigantic native plant life in carved pots, and every citizen of Sindria had been invited to attend. There were parades in the streets, and wine flowed like rivers. The lights strung through the courtyard shone with seductive life, and belly dancers from the far continent ignited the entire party with mesmerizing talent. He’d even drank and laughed with the other generals (save for Pisti). It was marvelous, until he realized Ja’far wasn’t just stalling while getting changed. 

Sinbad swirled his goblet of wine, distracted by his own sulking. The woman on his lap (Khadija?) gave him a pitying look, petting his bare chest through the open front of his robe. “Is something the matter, Your Majesty?”

“No. Yes,” he responded. Something was very much the matter. The commemoration he’d been looking forward to for months was barely any fun, because his husband was a relentless workaholic and Sinbad missed him. “Ugh. Maybe I had a little bit of fun, but I can’t tell him _that_ — he’ll just make this more of a habit than it already is.”

“Um… What?” 

Sinbad grimaced, “Apologies, I’m— drunk.” He suddenly remembered Khadija was a woman, and he was surely ruining the mood. Sinbad threw on a haphazard smile, eyes lidded, and purred, “But you have been _exquisite,_ and although someone is in dire need of my attention, my general beside the fern would adore your company.”

Luckily, she took the hint, bidding him farewell and making her way toward Yamuraiha. Sinbad’s head swirled a little when he stood, but he ignored it, striding through the crowd and downing the last few gulps of his wine.

Drakon caught his shoulder on the way, leaning away from other conversation to growl under his breath at Sinbad, “Just leave him _be_. You know he doesn’t like parties.” 

Sinbad groaned, rolling his eyes, “He’s not avoiding the party, he’s avoiding a break.”

Drakon’s lizard eyes narrowed, his tongue flicking out. “Of course,” he said, unconvinced. “Besides, your… parading around with women probably isn’t helping any.”

With a righteous glare, Sinbad tilted his chin up and shot back, “Ja’far has no problem whatsoever with my flings. We are madly in love, and he admits we don’t run at the same pace.” He raised his brows, “Must I detail my sex life to you, or can I go.”

With a huff, Drakon leaned away. “Your mood reeks, street rat.”

The old insult drew a laugh from Sinbad, and he kicked at his friend's tail before turning away. A bark of annoyance followed him, but he only laughed again. Drakon was a fool, but he was fun to pester.

A couple more conversations distracted Sinbad before he made his way down the halls. His chest buzzed with the excitement of being around other people, but his favorite of all the people was missing. 

Sinbad didn’t even bother to knock before he burst into Ja’far’s chambers, wailing, “I’ve been betrayed by my closest advisor!”

Ja’far’s white head whipped around, his under-eye circles extra dark tonight. He scowled at Sinbad, snapping back, “Oh, shut up, Sin. I’m tying loose ends, not selling my soul to Al-Thamen.”

He wasn’t wearing any sort of headdress tonight, and he’d even shrugged off the top of his robe, leaving the large billowy sleeves spilling down the sides of his chair. His lithe arms were still entwined with the usual wires, so at least he wasn’t defenseless. But Sinbad spied at least two cups of coffee on his neat desk, and a tired, caffeine-ridden Ja’far was the most difficult Ja’far to pull away from work. 

Sinbad strode up behind him, his shoes tapping on the intricate tile floors. He leaned over Ja’far, peering down at whatever he was writing and dodging Ja’far’s many attempts to bodily shove him aside. 

He seemed to be rewriting Sinbad’s schedule for the next month, which was technically his job, but the last thing he should be doing right now.

Ja’far’s usual neat script was messy and rushed, as if he was scrawling down notes instead of writing an official document. He’d always loved his work— devoting much more time to learning from Rurumu than Sinbad— and his passion for Sindria was honestly immeasurable. 

This wasn’t the first late night he’d forced upon himself, and it wasn’t going to be the last. Ja’far took it upon himself to force Sinbad into working, so Sinbad felt it was his responsibility to return the favor and force Ja’far to rest. 

Just because he was the kind of king who skimped on the boring stuff didn’t mean he allowed his subjects to overburden themselves. 

With a sigh, Sinbad stepped away from Ja’far’s reach. He wandered around to the front of his desk instead, sitting on the edge of it and untying his long, indigo hair. 

“You made a promise,” he sighed. “And come on… is planning out my monthly schedule that much of an emergency?” 

Ja’far swept the bangs from his forehead, the ink that stained his fingers leaving a dark smudge on his skin.

“I… Just let me work,” he grumbled.

“Ja’far! This is ridiculous and you know it!” 

Ja’far slammed his quill down, and he fixed Sinbad with a deep glare. But it wasn’t his usual stone-cold scowl. Ja’far’s old rage was bubbling up again— his hands were jittery, and he kept touching his hair and clenching his jaw. His eyes were even a little reddened, like he’d been holding them open too long.

“Sinbad,” Ja’far began, rough and angry. “I am not in the mood to party. There— there are _things_ that need to be done, and just because Sindria has existed for ten years doesn’t mean it’s perfect. I… I still haven’t even _begun_ on reviewing the case for the new press, and things aren’t perfect here—“

“Hey, hey,” Sinbad cut off his ramble, which was getting more frantic with each word. His voice was softer now, and he took one of Ja’far’s scarred palms in his hands. “It’s alright if you don’t feel up to attending.” 

Ja’far’s hand was cold with sweat, and he pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose, eyes shut tight. The anger seemed to be draining, but his shoulders were drawn tight. 

“I adore your devotion to Sindria,” Sinbad soothed, rubbing his thumb over the back of Ja’far’s knuckles. “But you overwork yourself so often, I fear you’ve forgotten how to relax.” 

Ja’far squeezed his hands, and exhaled, “I’ve never known how to relax…” 

With a rueful smile, Sinbad stood. He kept his hold on Ja’far’s hand, and leaned down to kiss the back of it before murmuring, “I have some ideas to help with that. Start with a bath, perhaps? You have ink in your hair.”

Ja’far’s mouth twitched, like he was fighting a smile. The last of his resistance slipped aside when he met Sinbad’s gaze, gratitude in the pinch of his brows. “I… fine. If your hands wander, I’ll cut them off.” 

With a hearty laugh, Sinbad stepped around the desk to embrace Ja’far. He squeezed him tight, lifting him off the floor and nosing haplessly at his neck. Ja’far let out a strangled sound, something between a giggle and a grunt, as Sinbad spun him around. 

“Are- you going to put me down?”

Sinbad pursed his lips, considering that, before smiling slyly and heaving Ja’far over his shoulder like a giant carpet roll in response. Ja’far was still tense and jittery, and he needed to get distracted out of it. A quick carry to his personal baths would fit the bill perfectly.

As he made his way across the room, Ja’far yelped, “Sin! You drunk idiot— put me down!” 

He opened the large wooden doors with one foot, stating proudly, “This is part of the bath! I’m bathing you of… shame, obviously.” 

A groan slipped into Ja’far’s voice as he was carried down the hall. “I don’t have _shame_ , I have dignity. The two are very different, and if somebody sees you hauling me around like a damn princess, I’ll toss you out a window.”

“So many threats,” Sinbad tutted as he strode down the dim hallway. 

Ja’far relented with a sigh, going limp over Sinbad’s shoulder. Sinbad was smiling proudly all the while— this was a fantastic success, after all. Even though Ja’far wasn’t in the mood to party, he’d agreed to a bath with Sinbad! They hadn’t done that since… well, since they were kids. It honestly seemed nicer than going back to the party. Much more personal. 

Once they reached Sinbad’s private baths, walking through his bed chambers to get there, he eased Ja’far off of his shoulder and onto the ground. 

While the public baths of the palace were grand— full of sprawling plant-life and tall columns, open to the air— his private baths were a small, lavish room. 

Thin fabrics were draped from the ceiling in vibrant coppers and magentas, and shelves of salts and soaps hugged the walls. Clean towels sat in a stack on the edge of a large rug, and unlit lanterns hung in clusters on the ceiling. The tub in the center of the room was built for a man of Sinbad’s size, and it was intricately tiled with turquoise. Water filled it to the third highest tile line, clean and ready to be mixed with petals and salts. Ivy from the west of Sindria crawled up a wall, and ferns sat in woven pots, their leaves brushing the water’s surface. 

This was one of his favorite rooms in the palace, and he adored watching Ja’far bathe in a place so private and personal. He’d designed it himself— choosing each vial of cream and hanging plant— and all the trinkets and beads hanging about gave the room a sort of comforting chaos that empty walls just never could. 

Sinbad hummed to himself as he lit one of the thin sticks on the shelf, going around the room to light each lantern and candle. When he lit the ones behind the curtains, their light filtered through in shades of sunset. 

Behind him, he heard the rustling of fabric. When Sinbad turned, he was struck with the sight of Ja’far undressing in the soft candlelight, bangs hanging in his face as he shrugged off his robes without ceremony. Sinbad blew out the lighter, and stared.

It wasn’t any kind of erotic preformance Ja’far was putting on for Sinbad, and it wasn’t like he was the type to do so anyway. He was just taking off a robe, plain and simple. But the comfort with which he showed his skin— his scars— to Sinbad made his chest tighten. 

As teenagers, they didn’t have room for privacy. Not on the Imuchakk ship, and definitely not in the gorge during their Artemyra voyage. And as adults, their lives were so full of work and planning and stringing together both a country and an alliance, that they barely had the time to love each other. 

So this moment of domesticity was much overdue.

After Ja’far had folded his robes in a neat stack, he slid Bararaq Sei from his forearms. The wires, still holding the shape of his arms, were set on top of his robes. Just then, he glanced over his shoulder at Sinbad, who was still fully (albeit scantily) clothed. “Are you getting in?”

An easy smile settled on Sinbad’s face, and he murmured, “Mm, no. I’ll be watching and helping for tonight.” 

Ja’far nodded, rubbing blearily at his eyes. He glanced to the tub, squinty and tired, and padded across the carpet to test the water as Sinbad hung back, still gazing at him.

“Sin,” Ja’far sighed, “this is freezing.” 

Sinbad shrugged. “Heating powder is on the shelf. Unless you’d like me to prepare your bath for you, my liege.”

Ja’far raised his brows, and then turned to lean back against the side of the tub with an amused expression. His hands were braced beside his hips, and the candlelight seemed to caress his soft, muscular form. While Sinbad stared, Ja‘far croaked with a lidded smile, “Well… this was _your_ idea, so I don’t see why not.” 

Sinbad swallowed. Ja’far wasn’t one to tease very often, and teasing while naked was even more rare. 

A smile spread over his face, and Sinbad followed his impulse to kiss Ja’far squarely on the cheek. He wrapped Ja’far in his arms, groping shamelessly at the curve of his back as he murmured, “I _love_ when you turn the tables on me... Mmh, looks like you’re my king tonight. So would you prefer lavender, rose, or lemongrass to scent the water, sire?”

Ja’far’s sly smile turned pleased as he laughed, “Rose. And don’t make ‘sire’ a habit.”

Sinbad took another moment to just look at Ja’far’s face before leaning in to kiss his other cheek. As he pulled back, Sinbad brushed his palm over Ja’far’s shoulder. He’d missed those easy smiles.

Sinbad moved aside, and he could feel Ja’far’s calm gaze on his back. He reached for the tall jar of rose petals, finding it easily on the cluttered shelves. The ceramic side was painted with roses in lieu of a label, and Sinbad carried it under his arm while he dug out pink mountain salt and heating powder.

He trailed his knuckles in the water, and set down the three jars on the flat edge of the tub. It was chilly, just as Ja’far had said. While he measured out the heating powder in one hand, brows bunched, Ja’far laughed softly, “You’re concentrating so hard.”

“I don’t want the bath to burn your delicate skin,” Sinbad teased, sprinkling the red powder into the bath. 

Cold toes jabbed at Sinbad’s calf, followed by a scoff of, “Very funny.” 

For Ja’far’s small size (that, admittedly, wasn’t very distinguishable from everyone else shorter than Sinbad), he was very sturdy. Sinbad honestly wouldn’t have been surprised if he bathed in boiling water or put venom in his tea or something. Hell, he’d ripped a snake clean in half at age 13. 

Following that train of thought, Sinbad said while tossing petals into the now-steaming water, “Did you ever actually _do_ any of those things you used to boast about?” He looked over his shoulder at Ja’far, smirking. “Wrestling vipers, scaling mountains, eating your deceased targets— that sort of thing?”

Ja’far looked away, tucking his bangs behind his ear and blushing. “I’ve told you about my days with Sham Lash before, Sin. But— I may have… exaggerated some of those bits. I was eleven, and very lost.”

There was a sour note in Ja’far’s voice, and Sinbad’s smile waned. He still needed to sober up. 

Ja’far’s wounds were old, but they weren’t yet healed. He’d been through horrible things, and at such a young age— it had turned his fear and loneliness into hatred, all to survive in the only way he knew how. Jafar didn’t enjoy remembering how he used to be. He wasn’t actively proud of it anymore, and Sinbad found that to be proof of how far he’d come.

With a hand on Ja’far’s hip, Sinbad guided him into the bath. Ja’far flicked his hand away, electing to hold it instead. As Sinbad watched his scarred legs dip into the water, he murmured, “And you’ve found yourself now. With me, and Rurumu, and the generals… and Sindria. Where you work yourself stupid despite being surrounded by allies who love and care for you.” 

Ja’far settled into the water, knees pulled to his chest. He was still holding Sinbad’s hand, and a small smile was pulling at his lips. “Not enough to finish their paperwork early.”

Sinbad’s heart clenched, and it felt as if rose petals were dancing around in his stomach instead of in the water. Ja’far was such a marvel. So quiet yet so vibrant, and Sinbad didn’t even attempt to keep the emotion from his face as he sank down to sit beside the tub. He rested his elbow on the tiled edge, and propped his cheek on his hand, openly and unabashedly gazing upon his beautiful lover. 

Ja’far was wet with candlelight that outlined his form in warm yellows. He slowly unfurled in the tub, leaning against the slanted back of it and letting his legs slide into the water. The steam turned his gentle brown skin dewy, a blush still showing on his cheeks. He’d turned lighter now that he was covering up every day with the official Sindrian robes, so the freckles dusting his arms seemed to stand out that much more. Ja’far had only been frail as a (fairly malnourished) child, but ever since his first growth spurt and a steady diet, he’d put on muscle. Nothing about his body was sharp, save for his expressions, but strength sat beneath his lithe curves. He was so strong… Ja’far had kept up with Sinbad’s insane ambitions for years, and never once feared telling him he was wrong— even right to his face, and when Sinbad could turn him to dust with a flick of his wrist. When Ja’far had suffered through his lanky, awkward teenage years just to have Sinbad relentlessly make fun of him for it, he’d stayed. Well— only after a knife to Sinbad’s throat, some threats, and a confession— but Sinbad had honestly gotten off easy. 

Sinbad saw trust, loyalty, and so many years of precious history in Ja’far, and he could’ve stared at him for hours. He already had every bit of him memorized— to scold him through long days and soothe him to sleep on restless nights. Ja’far was gone too often, and Sinbad missed getting lost in him. 

Whatever expression Sinbad had on seemed to catch Ja’far’s attention, and he met Sinbad’s eyes with pinched brows. He said, slow and delicate, “Sin…?” 

It could’ve been the rare shyness in his voice, or the ink on the right side of his forehead, or anything else about Ja’far that made Sinbad’s chest seize, but he didn’t hesitate at all before leaning in. 

He cupped Ja’far’s jaw in his hand, fingers curling around the nape of his neck, as he pressed their lips together in a long, warm kiss. There weren’t explosions of desire or blinding strokes of excitement in their kiss, but instead, a steady passion. Sinbad felt Ja’far’s tension melt away in his hands, and he slumped into the contact with a soft sound. Sinbad moved his lips in a steady cadence against Ja’far’s, letting his thoughts melt away in turn. They kissed like they danced, slow and instinctual. And when Sinbad pulled away, their breath mixing in the hot space between their mouths, Ja’far groaned as he tipped their foreheads together.

Sinbad laughed, low and gravelly, and squeezed Ja’far closer. “I’m really happy.”

“Mmhn,” Ja’far murmured.

“Do you want to sit there for a while, or can I wash your hair?”

“Mm.” 

Sinbad bumped their foreheads together, and Ja’far’s eyes cracked open in a dazed glare. 

“Ugh… wash my hair,” he sighed. “I want to go to bed with you.” 

Sinbad’s chest swelled, and he grabbed for the lather as Ja’far sleepily turned himself around. 

Minutes passed in comfortable silence while Sinbad massaged Ja’far’s scalp, petting the foam through his thick white hair. He began to hum, and then settled into telling Ja’far about the fun he’d missed. Not to rub it in his face or anything, just to tell him. Sinbad rinsed Jafar’s hair and recounted how Sharrkan had gotten drunk enough to stumble onto one of the stages, but the dancers had actually rolled with it and performed in some sort of circle around him while he humiliated himself. That got an amused grunt out of Ja’far, so Sinbad kept going. The water slowly stopped steaming, and Sinbad patted out Ja’far’s hair with one of the towels. He seemed totally sapped of energy, allowing Sinbad to manhandle him and rub whatever he wanted onto his ink-smudged cheeks. The smudges were quickly washed away as Sinbad went on a tangent about Drakon’s simple-minded views on polyamory, because he was clearly too much of a lizard to think Sinbad’s marriage could work differently from his own. Ja’far hummed again, and Sinbad kissed his forehead. 

Sinbad didn’t need to ask before helping Ja’far out and toweling him down. Satisfaction curled in his stomach. He’d successfully talked Ja’far into a very boneless state, and he was too sleepy to complain about Sinbad doting on him. 

He took full advantage of Ja’far’s willingness, and stopped talking in favor of peppering kisses along his collarbone. Ja’far didn’t even try to hold back little gasps and groans, and he clutched Sinbad’s robe in a fist. When Sinbad pulled back, grinning and covering him back up with clean silk, Ja’far glared dazedly up at him. His voice was raw when he grumbled, “Bastard…”

Sinbad laughed. Ja’far was so fun to tease.

Once Sinbad pulled the tub’s drain cover away and wiped off his hand, it was a short walk to his own chambers. There was no way Ja’far was sleeping alone tonight, and Sinbad helped him all the way to the bed. Ja’far laid himself down in a sleepy heap, thoroughly sated by clean skin and warm water. Sinbad couldn’t help but watch as he curled up under the blanket and closed his eyes. He looked so peaceful… his creases smoothed out and his lashes fanned across his freckled cheeks. Lately, it seemed like Ja’far was always glaring or concentrating or making succinct business proposals. It was nice to see him so… relaxed. Nice enough to make Sinbad’s chest swell with warmth, because this was exactly what he’d hoped for.

He was definitely getting lost again, because Sinbad startled when Jafar grunted, “Sin. I can feel you staring. Hurry up and get in bed.”

A helpless smile spread over his face, and Sinbad leaned in to brush Ja’far’s bangs aside, kissing his forehead yet again. “I’ll be there soon, love. But I have a lot of jewelry to remove.” 

Ja’far groaned again, and Sinbad laughed, brushing a palm over his shoulder. Low candlelight filled the room, softening every edge and giving Sinbad just enough light to see what he was doing. So he went through his usual nightly routine while Ja’far waited for him, even collecting Ja’far’s robes and wires for the next day. Sinbad wiped away the kohl from his eyes, and removed each ring and necklace to place them in his drawers. After unlacing his intricate dove-blue robe and folding it for washing, he stretched out with a long sigh.

It felt amazing to free his body after a long day, and he gazed indulgently at himself in the mirror, re-tying his hair with a large ribbon. He needed to shave his jaw soon, but his youthful beauty was still very much present and alive in the strong lines of his face. Ah- and he’d almost forgotten to take off his hoops. While he did so, Sinbad was nearly taken aback when he caught a glimpse of his own back in the mirror, bent over in a seductive arch. He really shouldn’t be surprised by how excellent he looked by now, but here he was! Mistaking his godlike form for a stranger. Just the right balance of fat and muscle… his waist was trim and his thighs were huge, and gods above, his triceps looked amazing when he flexed. Sinbad probably spent too long examining his muscles from different angles, because another groan of “ _Sin_ ” sounded from the bed.

“Yes, yes, I’m coming. So demanding, Ja’far, I was only undressing,” he griped, offended at being caught. 

“You were admiring yourself again,” the pile of blankets drawled.

“Fine,” Sinbad admitted, grabbing the next scroll in their nightly saga and walking back to the bed. “But I’m very distracting. It was deserved and necessary.” 

“Just get in,” Ja’far mumbled, scooting over and opening up the blankets for Sinbad to join him.

Sinbad’s heart gave a little squeeze at that invitation, and he didn’t need any more prompting before sliding in beside Ja’far and fitting against him like a puzzle piece. Ja’far closed the blankets around them, and Sinbad nuzzled into his chest with a relieved sigh. It had taken him a long time to admit how much he adored being the one who was lower down while they cuddled, but oh, was it worth it. Ja’far always stroked his neck like an instinct, and it felt heavenly. 

Sinbad was about to just fall asleep in his arms, but Ja’far murmured, “Weren’t you going to read to me?”

“Oh,” Sinbad said dumbly. “Yes. I was. But…” he added with a sleepy grin, “you’ll have to release me first. I’m trapped.” 

He didn’t need to look up to know Ja’far was pursing his lips like he always did when he stifled a smile.

“Fine,” Ja’far relented. “Now put your mouth to work.” 

The arm slung over his shoulder lifted, and Sinbad raised his brows suggestively at Ja’far, who met him with a scowl and a huff of, “Don’t.” 

Sinbad pried himself from Ja’far’s embrace and sat up, sighing mournfully. They both took a moment to readjust: Sinbad tucking a pillow behind his back and pulling the lantern closer, and Ja’far laying a hand over his lap from where he lay at Sinbad’s side. His fingers were still cold, and the warm light made his bony hands look soft and graceful. They sent goosebumps up Sinbad’s thigh. He placed a smaller pillow beside him, and opened the scroll on top of it. It was the third volume of _Seabound_ , a series about an oceanic demon and a sailor. Ja’far claimed to have no interest in it, with all the predictable romance and such, but by now he settled down to listen with no prompting at all. Sinbad suspected he enjoyed the demon’s inner turmoil, and related to the creature on some level— tortured souls in love with sailors and whatnot.

While he read by candlelight, Sinbad absently stroked Ja’far’s damp hair. It dried slow, but not as slow as Sinbad’s. He became engrossed in the story as he read it— a tense scene in the brig of the ship— and Ja’far’s hand slowly warmed on his leg. He was slowly sobering up, and tiring out.

The candles of orange wax melted by his bedside, and the oil lanterns burned steady and low. Sinbad’s voice began to catch in his throat, becoming more raspy with each sentence. His throat ached, so he drank a quick swig of water from the jug hanging beside him. When he looked back down at Ja’far, he saw him sound asleep, but still clutching Sinbad’s thigh like he never wanted to let him go. Sinbad’s chest gave a hearty squeeze, and he desperately wanted to rouse his beloved and kiss him senseless, but… sleep was more important. So he rolled the scroll back together, and set it down softly beside the melting candles, blowing them out as he went. He could get up to douse the lanterns, but that meant leaving Ja’far. And that definitely wasn’t an option. 

But… Sinbad still needed to lie down. So he expertly lifted Ja’far’s arms a few inches, and slid down onto his back just in time for Ja’far’s involuntary grunt and movement to take back what had just been in his arms. This time, he found Sinbad’s chest, and tucked himself against it. Sinbad was higher up this time, and he shifted to lay on his side, with Ja’far between his arms. It was bliss— legs sliding easily together, a small cheek pressed to his shoulder. Ja’far always craved warmth in his sleep, and Sinbad was a human heater. They were a perfect match.

The room seemed to settle along with Sinbad, all the gentle background noises evening out into a calming static when he relaxed beside his lover. The next morning, he’d definitely wake up with a raging headache, but right now was heaven. Ja’far smelled like roses and familiarity, and when Sinbad wrapped an arm around his shoulders, everything felt right. 

He took a slow inhale, curled close to Ja’far, and closed his eyes.   
  


**Author's Note:**

> Wow this is my first fic ever and it was born out of both my Sinja thoughts that have been left to stew for years, and my fiend that reminded me I could fucking write. Some background stuff is inspired directly from themarkerfairy who is my FAVE sinja writer, and I’m literally obsessed with their fic Afterimage so PLS give it a read. 
> 
> The additional art is by me ehe so enjoy ur food
> 
> Find me at @inkygreene on Instagram <3


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